


A Rose By Any Other Name

by BlackSkyandRoses



Series: Inquisition: Cullen x Inquisitor [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, one shots, seriously just fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSkyandRoses/pseuds/BlackSkyandRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saragra stared at the arrangement of flowers sitting on her desk in a mixture of annoyance and disgust. They were a stunning display of elegance, refinement and beauty. And she hated them</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rose By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Bad title, I know. Shakespeare puns are still cool, right? 
> 
> I put this after the chess game, but before the kiss on the battlements. The Inquisitor has been away for a few weeks in this story.

Saragra stared at the arrangement of flowers sitting on her desk in a mixture of annoyance and disgust. They were a stunning display of elegance, refinement and beauty. And she hated them. The bouquet took up the majority of her desk, ribbons and vines trailing down onto the floor. Duke Someone-or-other had sent it to her with “deepest regards”, Josephine had told her. It was supposed to convey alliance and garner her favour, apparently. Yet all Saragra could see when she looked at it was an obnoxious display of wealth. Creators, she hated it. She picked up the card that was nestled in the bouquet and flicked it into the fireplace without bothering to read it. The temptation to toss the flowers in after it was near overwhelming. This stupid thing probably cost more than most people saw in a year! Maybe she could pitch it off the balcony.... Consumed by her own thoughts, Saragra didn’t hear the knock on the door, nor the footsteps climbing up the stairs to her quarters.

Cullen climbed the stairs to the inquisitor’s quarters, puzzled. He was sure she was in here, yet she hadn’t responded to his knock. However, she had been given an area away from the bustle of the main hall for peace and privacy. Most likely, she hadn’t heard him. As he headed up to Sa..to the Inquisitor’s chambers, doubt began to claw at Cullen. Maybe she did hear him, and was avoiding his knock. Did she know it was him? Was she avoiding him? Maybe she was just tired and avoiding everyone. She had returned from an expedition from the Exalted Plains that morning, and on further reflection, that probably wasn’t the easiest place for her to face...His thoughts a swirl of confusion and anxiety, Cullen almost turned and fled. But no, he couldn’t. He was the commander of her forces, for the Maker’s sake, and he needed to speak with her. His personal feelings aside, they did have much to discuss. He finally reached the top of the stairs, and found her staring at a basket of flowers with an expression of loathing on her face that he normally associated with her throwing around balls of fire or blasts of lightning. Cullen cleared his throat nervously. “Uhm, Inquisitor? Is this a bad time?” he inquired.

Saragra jumped slightly. “Oh! Commander! I didn’t hear you knock” she said, attempting to regain some composure. It had been a number of weeks since she had seen the commander, and she had to fight off a foolish grin. _Stop that_ she told herself sternly. _You are the Inquisitor, not some blushing elven maiden. He likely just came to go over reports with you_. Saragra had flirted with the handsome commander a few times, but she hadn’t really expected him to return any of her interests. Before she had left, they had played a game of chess and chatted for several hours about everything and anything they could – so long as it wasn’t related to the inquisition. She had spent far more hours than she would like to admit pondering over the blonde man and his (likely imagined) affection for her in the weeks since. She glanced over at him, feeling her annoyance over the obnoxious display of flowers melting away. In fact, when her green eyes met his amber ones, her heart thumped painfully in her chest and she quite forgot what she was doing.  
“I was hoping to go over some of the reports from your last – By the Maker, what in the world is that?” Cullen had caught sight of the offending flowers. If anything, they looked even more garish and obnoxious now. Saragra sighed, massaging her temples a bit, as was her habit when she was exasperated or exhausted. “Duke... someone-or-other sent them. Isn’t it awful?” She said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. The last thing she wanted was Cullen to think she was annoyed at him. Cullen tossed the reports down onto the side table next to her chaise lounge, and crossed over to stand next to her, looking down at the flowers. He was feeling a rather bizarre mixture of emotions over the intrusive gift. Jealousy that someone else was trying to curry her favour, delight that she did not like the flowers... and yet a small twinge of disappointment. There was a small bouquet of flowers hidden in his office, intended to be both a welcoming present and a small token of his affection for her. Had he misjudged her likes and dislikes so badly? Also, how in the Maker’s name could he compare with a display like that? “Am I to guess you are not one for flowers?” he asked, turning towards her curiously. They were quite close now, and he had to tilt his head to look down at her. The elves were small and slender compared to humans, and the inquisitor was no different. She barely came up to his shoulders, in fact. Varric had once told him he suspected she wore her hair piled in a tight bun on the top of her head to give her an extra few inches in height. Cullen worked hard to suppress a smile at the memory of that conversation, and focused on the inquisitor again. Not that paying attention to her was a particularly difficult task...

When he focused on her again, he realized she was blushing. It was faint, a barely there touch of pink on her cheekbones, but it was there. Saragra cleared her throat and smiled, a slightly embarrassed smile. “Not at all. I love flowers. Just.. not these kinds of flowers.” She explained. She was blushing because when Cullen had asked his question, the first thing to pop into her traitor mind was _Not if they were from you_. “This is not a display of affection, merely an attempt to curry favour by obnoxiously displaying wealth. I... I guess most nobles don’t realize that such displays don’t actually impress some people.” She said, working hard to avoid stumbling over her words. Creators, he was so close to her. She could smell the leather in his armour, and a touch of something.. musky, maybe? Some faint, yet deep and dark scent. She wondered idly where it was, and where it was coming from? The fur of his cloak? Something in his armour? Or maybe it was something, some lotion or scent that he deliberately put on himself. Saragra fought to keep her focus on the conversation while her traitorous mind was eagerly examining the possibility of finding out what, exactly, that intoxicating scent was. With an effort, she managed to keep speaking. “I suppose I would want something that’s for...something that’s for Saragra, not for the Inquisitor. Perhaps a small bundle of flowers that yo- that they picked for me themselves, or a bundle of herbs.” The blush started to creep down her neck. “Does that make sense?” She asked softly, looking up at him again. Cullen chuckled, the sound of it making her go slightly weak in the knees. _Damnit woman, pull yourself together!_ “That does make a certain amount of sense” he admitted. “You are the inquisitor though, and most people know you as such.” Saragra’s shoulders slumped a little as she looked down. “I know that.” She replied softly. “It’s just... sometimes, I want someone to want Saragra, the person I was before I became the big scary inquisitor. Most of the people here, even you, call me by my title. I can’t remember the last time I was addressed by my name, not Lady Lavellen, not The Inquisitor, not Herald of Andraste – which, by the way, I particularly hate that one...” she trailed off, looking down at her boots to avoid looking at the commander. She suddenly felt saddened, practically on the brink of tears for some damned reason, and she wasn’t about to cry in front of Cullen.

Cullen, meanwhile, was having a small revelation. She was a woman who was likely used to being reviled by most of society – a wandering dalish elf, and an apostate mage to boot – and now half the nobles of Thedas were attempting to smooze into her good graces, while the other half was reviling her even louder. Gathering his courage, he put his hand on her arm. “If it makes you feel better...” he paused, trying to force out the words that were stuck in his throat. “I..I would be more than pleased to call you by name, if you’ll grant me permission to do so.” She looked up at him, and the look in her eyes was almost too much to hope for. “I mean, in public, I would still have to call you by your title, Josephine was skin me alive if I didn’t, but if we’re alone...” Cullen was stumbling on his words now, they were coming out too fast now that they had started. He looked into those spectacularly green eyes and kept rambling, not particularly paying attention to what he was saying “I mean, it’s a lovely name, and I would be more than pleased to use it for you, and...” He trailed off as she smiled, a slow, heartbreakingly hopeful smile. “That would... that would be lovely” she said softly, smiling still. Cullen was roughly three seconds away from throwing caution to the winds, because those lips just begged to be kissed, and Maker, he wanted to be the one to do it.. when Josephine’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Inquisitor? Commander Cullen?” she called. “Leliana has some important news in from her scouts, and is summoning the war council.” Cullen sighed as the moment fled, and Saragra also looked.. disappointed? Maker’s breath, was she disappointed at the intrusion?  
“We are up here Josie!” Saragra called out “We will be along in a moment!” She smiled at Cullen once more. “I guess we can’t keep the spymaster waiting, can we?” Cullen chuckled ruefully. “I suppose not. We can go over these reports at the war table, I suppose.” He turned to retrieve the reports he had dropped on the table, and when he turned back to Saragra, she was gathering up the large flower arrangement in her arms. “In... Saragra, what in the maker’s name are you doing?” he asked as she crossed over to the balcony. Saragra glanced over her shoulder and gave Cullen a wicked grin. “I am putting these flowers where they belong!” she claimed, as she tossed them over the balcony onto the mountainside below. Cullen tossed his head back and laughed, the first full-on laugh in.. well, ages. Since before Kirkwall went to shambles, probably. “You.. you are so perfect” he said, full of admiration for her. Saragra blushed a little, and managed a smile that she hoped wasn’t too foolish. “You’re not so bad yourself, Cullen.” She replied, secretly delighted at using his name, and proffered an arm. “Now.. walk a lady down to the war room?” she requested. Cullen’s heart stuttered a bit as he took her arm. “It would be my very great pleasure” he replied, thrilled.

When Saragra returned to her chambers the next evening, there was a much smaller bundle of flowers on her desk waiting for her. She recognized the various flowers that were local to the area around Skyhold. There was a note attached, and this time, she read it. It was short, and unsigned, but she recognized the handwriting from his reports. _I hope these are more to your liking. Welcome back to Skyhold_. She smiled, and held the flowers to her face to breathe in the scent. Perhaps tomorrow she would go talk to Cullen. Maybe it was finally time to talk to him. About them. Alone.


End file.
